With Good Reason
by wren4
Summary: Sydney's stuck in the hospital for a little and the visitors she gets make her think...going to get sort of angsty and mushy, but I can't help that, and little S/V UST thrown in for good measure. *Complete*
1. Never Simple

Title: With Good Reason  
  
Author: wren  
  
Rating: PG, there's only one little bad word thrown in  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, but you already know that, don't you?  
  
Summary: Sydney's stuck in the hospital for a little while and she gets a few visitors who make her think about the whole spy thing...  
  
A/N: I really hope this thing's not too out of character. The prologue's just setting up the story so hang in there with me...  
  
  
Prologue-Never Simple  
  
  
A brush pass, they were just supposed to make a simple pass, exchange a disc and then walk the other way. He had been called in as a last minute replacement, someone Sydney would recognize on short notice. So he had climbed into his car and driven to the airport, all the while trying to have the same sense of humor Weiss had about the terminology. Make a pass at her, ha ha. It only succeeded in making him sick to his stomach the way anything that scraped a bit too close to the truth did. Sometimes the lies are a bit easier to swallow, no matter what people say about the Glorious Truth.  
  
He should have remembered nothing's ever simple when you're dealing with Sydney Bristow.  
  
He had waited for her long past the appointed time, hoping he looked inconspicuous enough as he paced the terminal in his travel-stained suit with his standard-issue briefcase. He had not panicked, a fact he was irrationally proud of. He had only picked himself up and preformed a meticulous search of the whole airport. He found her tucked away in one of the convenient blind spots that seem to be built into every public place, her head thrown back, her hair spilling like a stain across the dirty black material of the seat, the rest of her curled in a impossibly small ball, she could have almost been sleeping.  
  
She must not have been expecting it, there must have been a lot of them to do that to the Sydney he knew. She looked terrible, bruised and bleeding, her breath coming in shallow gasps that rattled her frame and her skin the exact color and texture of fresh paper. He believed, though, with a grim sort of certainty that she had given as good as she got. Without thinking, he had bundled her in his coat, smoothing the fabric out to cover every abused inch, and walked out with her cradled against his chest like a sleeping infant, or maybe more like a lover.  
  
Michael Vaughn's hands tightened on the leather of the steering wheel slick with his sweat. His eyes danced between the woman slumped in his passenger seat and the windshield. He wondered even now if he was crossing some unspoken boundary on him by doing this. But who else was going to? It wasn't like she was any condition to help herself, and Sydney's unaccustomed vulnerability brought out a protective side of him that would have been impossible to squelch. He turned the wheel slightly, his fingers slipping on the oily material, aiming for the rest stop. He winced as the car bounced over a rut, but she didn't make a sound as her head banged with a hollow thud against the window.  
  
Pulling into a vacant spot, he quickly snapped off both their seatbelts. He checked her over thoroughly, keeping an ear on her breathing and re-bandaging all of her cuts. He had used one of his shirts that he found in his trunk, shredding it and tying the pieces tightly to stop the bleeding. There were so many holes in her flesh he knew at least one of the bastards must have had a knife. The thought sent a jolt of cold fury through him, frightening in its intensity. He had never been the violent type, much less ever wanted to tear someone apart limb from limb. Now, he supposed, was as good a time as any to learn to be.  
  
His fingers hit something hard and solid in his search for missed gashes, and he wrestled it from the wreck of her business clothes. It was encrusted with blood, but the disc was still usable. Memory grounded him, duty drew off his anger; there was still a job to be finished, Sydney would understand.  
  
He gently took her face in his hands, speaking softly but firmly. "Sydney, Syd. Sweetheart, you've got to wake up for me." The endearments slipped of his tongue thoughtlessly, effortlessly. "Just for a minute, that's it baby." Her eyes fluttered, opened, blinked hazily at him. "Hey there, Syd. There you go...How are you feeling?"  
  
Her lips parted, and he watched as they cracked, bleeding sluggishly; her battered throat worked to make the words come. "Hurts..."  
  
"Aww, sweetheart, I know, I know. I'm going to get you home as soon as I can, and then we'll get you all fixed up...But I want you to remember something for me, okay?" He dug in his pants pocket for his own fake disc and held them both up for her inspection. "Now I'm going to take the disc you brought back for us-did I say thank you, by the way?-and I'm going to tuck this disc right...here...for the next time you see Sloane. Got that, good job! Now close your eyes, and we'll be home before you know it..."  
  
And he kept his promise as best he could, though the whole drive seemed to be the longest ordeal of his life. He parked down the street from her home, and went to the revolting work of removing his shirt from her wounds, his training urging him to leave no evidence that he had ever touched her. Making sure his coat remained behind, he bundled her up again for the long walk to her doorstep. Francie's car was outside and the lights were on, so he knew Sydney's friend would find her. He arranged her in the position he hoped would cause the least amount of pain, head pillowed on the welcome mat, for Francie to discover. There wasn't anything else he could do for her without risking too much, and he left her there.  
  
But just in case, he hid in the bushes. 


	2. Not Good Enough

A/N: Okay, I'm sorry this chapter is so terrible and that it took me so long. Please forgive me, I'm studying for midterms! I know what you're thinking: Who has midterms after Christmas Break? Well I do, and it's TORTURE! I also apologize to all of you that thought there would be some huge sub plot with Sydney's attackers---I'm not that complex of a writer! I wouldn't know who to use, people's positions on the show are always changing and I wouldn't want to put the wrong character in. But if you have any ideas on who it should be then email them to me at divinewren@yahoo.com and maybe I'll put them in!   
  
  
Chapter One  
  
Not Good Enough  
  
  
"Sydney!" Francie's voice sounded so urgent she couldn't help responding, cracking one eye laboriously open. With the movement, she lost the blissful numbness of unconsciousness, agony flooded through every fiber of her body. Her arm hurt were it scraped against the pavement and there was a fire burning in her chest as her lungs expanded to knock against her ribs. "Oh my God, Sydney! What's happened? You're bleeding-and-and...What happened?" Francie finished, her voice raised to a painful pitch.  
  
"Mugged..." The lie slipped so easily out of her bruised throat it shocked her for a moment. When did it become so easy, whatever happened to the guilt? It came then, the familiar pang of shame, a little late, a little faked. "I...barely made it home be...before..."  
  
"Oh, Syd, don't worry...I'll-I'll call...and help'll be here soon..." And Francie left her weakly sprawled on the cold front step, footsteps pounding frantically through the house, the phone banging desperately on the hook.   
  
Down the street a car engine rumbled to life. She struggled to change her position so she could see, knowing there was something she needed to see but not quite remembering what. Something to do with hands, and a voice, and a disc. The pain stole any breath she could have used to scream in frustration as her muscles refused to obey her for the first time in her life. She finally flopped down like a fish out of water, the impact throwing her vision out of focus for a second, turning her only just in time to see a car with dark tinted windows glide slowly down the street. A government car. "Vaughn..." she mouthed the word, but it didn't make it off her lips, falling back into her and clinking around before settling into its accustomed niche. The effort sapped the last of her failing strength, and she gladly gave herself back up to oblivion.  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
  
She woke up in the hospital, the muted light filtering through drawn yellow curtains, giving the room a banana-colored tinge, and the glinting metal bedrail presented itself at eye level. She wriggled resolutely until she finally got off her side and settled flat on her back, but the pain took her breath away and shot her vision with odd shapes and colors.  
  
Francie gazed at her from her perch on the end of her bed, feet tucked up Indian-style, pillow clutched to her chest, concern tugging at the corners of her mouth. "How are you feeling?" She winced. "I forgot-your throat...The doctor said not to let you talk much...God, they nearly strangled you! Plus broken ribs and a fractured wrist and all those cuts..." her voice trailed off for a second as she bit her lip in a grimace, then she added hastily, "Nothing that won't heal of course! Also, the police came by for you to file a report, but you were sleeping so I made them go away; you can deal with them later." Police. Sydney fought to keep her eyebrows from shooting up. She didn't believe it was really the police. "Speaking of sleeping...you seemed to be having this really nice dream, and you said something. I know your throat must hurt, but can you tell me something...?" her voice lowered conspiratorially as she leaned in, and Sydney felt her heart quicken. What had she said, what had she given away? "Who's Vaughn?"  
  
Francie must have misread the look that crossed Sydney's face because she looked instantly rueful. "I don't want to intrude, but I just thought..."  
  
Sydney struggled to make her throat work, to keep the color from rising in her cheeks, and to force composure into her feeble voice. "Vaughn? I don't...know a Vaughn."  
  
"Are you sure?" Francie's voice got impossibly, irritatingly cheery when she discovered that her friend would discuss the topic; she never knew what subject she could breech with Sydney anymore. This one particularly delighted her. "Maybe he's a childhood friend or maybe someone you met in the break room once." By the faraway look in her eyes she was already planning a wedding, if it was hers or Sydney's was yet to be seen.  
  
"I don't know, okay?" Panic at the idea that she might have said something devastating in her sleep lent her voice new force and a harsh edge she instantly regretted.  
  
Francie stood, the pillow dropping with a muffled thump back to the bed. The action made the bed move in sickening way. "We-ell, someone needs some more pain medication." And she stalked out, presumably to find a nurse.  
  
A pain twisted in her chest, and she couldn't tell if it was because of her injuries or because she had just hurt her friend. Francie's only fault was that she worried a bit too much, nosed a bit where she shouldn't, only touched a bit too close to things she could never know.  
  
Why?  
  
The thought shook her out of her self-loathing.  
  
Why couldn't Francie know?  
  
Because. Because she was safer, healthier that way. Because she'd seen it destroy people before. Because sometimes the truth hurts more than the lies.  
  
But suddenly that wasn't a good enough reason. 


	3. Worse

A/N: I would have put this up already, but the site was down when I had the time to spare from my studying. So you get two chapters today...next one coming in a couple of minutes, or hours. Hope you're happy!  
  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Worse  
  
She stared dispassionately at the wall as she sat propped up on a pile of pillows, frustrated with her forced inactivity, lamenting her idleness; it gave her too much time to think, especially about what she and Will had discussed last night-yes, an actually discussion since her throat was working again, at least most of time.  
  
They had been speaking in low whispers, even though Francie was in the hospital cafeteria, like any second someone would burst in on them. Anything was possibility in her experience, though. He had been seated comfortably in one of the two chairs on either side of her bed with a box of Chinese take-out open in his lap and his chopsticks gripped awkwardly for lack of a fork, while she had picked vacuously at the tray the nurse had given her. But he hadn't offered any of his and she had been too proud to ask. She had recounted as much of the incident at the airport as she could remember to him, editing out the parts she knew would bring the sadness into his eyes, dwelling on her concerns that they had followed her too close to her home and friends, that someone out there might know her true identity. Will hadn't blamed her, simply put his hand over hers in way that made her jump, the emotion behind it was so intense. After a thorny silence, they had then deliberated over her options, but it really only came down to two logical ones: live with it and keep doing 'the right thing', or disappear.   
  
The thought of leaving it all behind, just disappearing, haunted her. She'd seen them do it before, erase a person, it didn't take much more than a computer and a paper shredder. But now she wondered if they could erase your soul along with the rest. Could she still be Sydney Bristow if there was no such person?  
  
The door opened with a quiet little snick, and she looked up hopefully for one of her friends to distract her. She fought with all the composure her life had taught her to keep the look from falling into one of disappointment and disgust as Arvin Sloane's compact figure slipped over the threshold.   
  
As she watched him close the door firmly and silently behind him, she wondered in way that made her wary of the pain pills they were giving her, whether Arvin Sloane had always been Arvin Sloane. Maybe his soul had gotten erased along with his old identity. Or maybe he had just sold it.  
  
He made himself welcome, drawing one of the chairs up next to the bed. He sat forward, leaning over her as his eyes devoured her with their frightening zeal. "I heard about your, er, incident from your father." His voice was almost worse than his gaze, slithering out of his mouth in way that made her skin crawl.   
  
She forced a smile across her face as she caught his unspoken hint; the smile was a lie, but she was good at lying. "Yes, but I did manage to come out with the disc. It's over in that chair," she said, jerking her head in the general direction, "in the jacket pocket." Francie had nearly gone into hysterics when she had been adamant on keeping the bloodstained clothing, but she had still folded it neatly in the chair at Sydney's continued insistence.  
  
She breathed a little easier when he heaved himself to his feet and trotted over to the other side of the room to retrieve the disc, relieving her of his stare. She decided she was going to burn those clothes when she got home as his hands crept over them. They were ruined anyway. He brought the disc up triumphantly like a child with a new toy, his eyes nearly glowing.  
  
He slid back over to his chair, tucking his prize securely away with a final pat, and resumed leering at her. "You have no idea how much this helps, Sydney." She rejoiced silently that would he would find nothing useful on the disc, as he paused and finally decided more was required of him. "I'm sorry you had to suffer such grievous injuries for it, though. You amaze me sometimes, picking yourself up in this condition and walking out of the airport..."  
  
She feigned modestly, tilting her head down to hide her eyes. "I'm sure I've had worse. The doctor says I'll be healed before I know it."  
  
"Good, good. That means, of course, you'll be back to work soon..."  
  
Back to work. The words stuck in her mind, taunting her. How could she go back to work for this man now? Suddenly Sloane and SD-6, even the Alliance, seemed so trivial. The world never changed; if tomorrow there were no Sloane, someone else would only rise to fill his place.  
  
Distraught, she reached for her resolve, that core that had always kept her going through everything. She only came up with hatred and a distinctive weariness. Her reason was gone, crumbled away like a dream that you can't remember when you wake. It shocked her how far away it had drifted, and she wondered how long ago she'd lost it, how long she'd been concealing its absence.  
  
"Yes, soon," she let the impression of exhaustion seep into her voice, blinking heavily before closing her eyes and evening out her breathing so he got the message. She needed time out of this man's presence to mull over this new development.   
  
She pretended to sleep until she heard his footsteps squeak ungracefully across the immaculate floors and out into the hall. Pretending wasn't hard lately. If there was anything she had learned over her lifetime, it was that every animal pretends when the risks are high, when the pressure's on; some pretend to be dead, some pretend to be more than they are, some even pretend to be something else entirely, and she pretended to be normal.  
  
Some types of pretending are more serious than others. 


	4. Learning to Swim

Chapter Three  
  
Learning to Swim  
  
She didn't even hear her father come in, only opened her eyes when some instinct shuddered franticly within her mind, to find a shadow looming over her. Her body seized with terror and she immediately analyzed her exits, her mind trapped in terrible memories. She could almost feel those hands grabbing her, choking her, shoving her in the nook behind the restrooms where no one could see, another pair muffling any sound she could make, more hands restraining, pummeling, slashing. People passing by had saved her before and they'd left her for dead, but who would save her in an isolated hospital room? She hated being weak, vulnerable, hated that she had left herself open to this attack.  
  
"I haven't been here long," Jack Bristow said, stepping into the circle of light created by her lamp, the beam descending down the crags of his features, only his eyes left like dark pits in the glow on his face. Relief sent tremors down her back down her backbone and through her straining muscles. "You looked...peaceful, I didn't want to wake you."  
  
"Hi, Dad." She smiled, and it wasn't as much of a lie as usual.  
  
"I came to make sure you were all in one piece. I'm glad you are." He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes focusing on the wall over her head. She doubted they'd ever get this father-daughter thing right.  
  
"Well, you know us Bristows are made of tough stuff." She brought a finger up to tap her chest, but the pain in her ribs made her wince, underscoring her words with irony.  
  
Us Bristows. Did that mean Irina, too?  
  
Strip away the country and the loyalties and they weren't so different. All three of them were spies, all strong and stubborn, all intelligent, all dysfunctional. And none of them normal. Even when she was little, even when she thought she was, underneath she never could be. Not with her background, not with her parents. Then her mother Laura had died, driving the first true wedge between her and a normal life, and her father had drawn in on himself, destroying any chance for a normal relationship between them.  
  
Her whole life she had just been pretending to be normal.  
  
She found another hole in the fabric of her universe, another empty spot, and she felt drained and flat as she watched another piece if her fall through it.  
  
"...Sydney? Are you okay?" Jack's concern penetrated her thoughts.  
  
She looked up abruptly, catching him off guard and capturing his eyes. "What do you do when it all comes crashing down on you, when you feel like you could drown in it?"  
  
He was silent for a long moment; she had always admired the fact that her father seemed to think before he spoke, but now it only made her impatient. Finally, he looked straight back at her, "You learn to swim."  
  
If it wouldn't have caused more pain than good, she would have thrown up her hands in exasperation. "You sound like her," she accused recklessly. "Like my mother. Every answer has to be so damn cryptic!"  
  
Her father's back became stiff, and he forced the words out behind clamped teeth, "What do you want from me then?"  
  
"I'm sorry!" She said hastily, instantly mollified by her behavior. "I didn't mean that." But she did.  
  
He aligned his shoulders in way that spoke volumes of his discomfort, since that was the most reaction you could ever get out of him. "Speaking of your mother; she wanted me to tell you something..." Her mother and father talking? That explained his uneasiness; he, Jack Bristow with all his power and influence, had been reduced to a messenger boy between the woman he had hated for years and the daughter he wanted to have no contact with the afore mentioned woman. She could only guess at what tactic Irina had used to get him to agree to carry her words. "She said...'Sometimes strength means falling to your knees, and sometimes courage means giving in.'"  
  
Learn to swim. Fall to your knees. Give in. Why couldn't anyone give her a straight answer? "What's it all supposed to mean?" Sydney questioned the air out loud.  
  
"You expect me to know?" No, she didn't. There were just some things in life that her father would never understand, and that included the women in his life. Jack's shoulders twitched again, and he turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "I'm...worried you're over-taxing yourself, Sydney. I'll leave and let you get some sleep."   
  
She made a noncommittal sound, which he took for a sign of agreement, giving her a brisk nod in the way of a goodbye. He turned sharply on his heel and walked a bit too swiftly for the door than the situation warranted.   
  
"Love you too, Dad," she told the empty room. 


	5. A Game of Hearts

Chapter Four  
  
A Game of Hearts  
  
  
Will and Francie had set up a card game on her bed tray, settling in chairs on either side of her bed, clutching their hands away from anyone else's view, glaring at each other with looks that belonged more to rapid animals than a friendly game of Hearts. Sydney was a little more relaxed--at least on the outside--than the other two, letting her cards falling loosely forward whenever she forgot to keep them to her chest, until she caught Will angling himself to catch a glimpse of them.   
  
She wasn't feeling guilty around her friends for once. What she was feeling was worse: envy. She envied them, even Will who knew so much, because they had more freedom than she ever could.  
  
Will set down a four of diamonds, and Francie put her six over it. Sydney ducked with a five, and Francie reached out to gather up the pile.  
  
She envied Will for how easy it was for him to walk away from it all. He had lost a little blood, a couple tears, a few screams, and his reputation; it would cost her much more.  
  
Ten of clubs. Three. She placed a jack over all of it and slid the cards toward her across the slick, peach plastic.  
  
She envied Francie for her safety, her carefree life, her untroubled sleep; Sydney Bristow would never be safe.  
  
She tossed a three of hearts out with enough force so it almost skidded off the edge of the tray, but Francie caught it in time, and positioned it and her seven in the center.   
  
Never be safe. Never hold a regular job. Never get married, or have kids.  
  
Will laid down a nine with a frown and gathered up the cards.  
  
Children. Danny had wanted children, and she had realized lately that she did too. Maybe by having children of her own she could have put to rest all her doubts about motherhood and motherly instinct that Irina had raised.  
  
Francie took the next round of cards, and Sydney threw down her last heart.  
  
She would never take them to the pool, or teach them to read, never throw birthday parties, or wipe away the tears.  
  
She gathered up the three spades, and flung out another.   
  
She couldn't even have a pet. She was gone far too often to take care of one. No dog, or cat, or even a goldfish. Nobody that depended on her for food or life, nobody to love her unconditionally.  
  
Oh, she might be saving someone else who owned a pet or someone's child, but she was missing a part of life she would have liked for herself. What she wanted for herself always seemed to come a distant second.  
  
Well, not anymore. Her sudden resolve frightened and excited her. Things would be different from now on.  
  
"Syd. Your turn," Will prompted, irritation in his voice.   
  
Without speaking, she cast the queen of spades down. Will scowled as reached over her to collect the cards, and Francie grinned wolfishly when she caught his eye. "Thirteen more points for Will!" she sang out happily.  
  
Sydney smiled victoriously too, but she was only pretending.  
  
  
A/N: Okay, I know this is really short...please don't hurt me! I may write another chapter today if I have time, and guess who's in it! Yes, it's the moment you've all been waiting for: Sydney gets a visit from...STAN?! Who's Stan, you're asking; well, you'll just have to wait and see! 


	6. Nancy's Flowers

A/N: Here it is! Two in one day! Don't you feel special? Now, say hello to Stan...  
  
Chapter Five  
  
Nancy's Flowers  
  
  
She slit her eyes reluctantly ajar as a commotion at her door jolted her out of the most pleasant sleep she'd had lately; someone apparently was having trouble opening it and was now preparing to knock it down. It finally swung in violently to admit yet another visitor: a bouquet of flowers. Two legs appeared below the basket, but the deliveryman's face was hidden behind the elaborate design as it bobbed across her room to the bedside table, the smell of lavender, roses, and snapdragons saturating the room with perfumes from the outside world. She hadn't realized how much she missed her home until the aroma reminded her that there was an existence beyond the sharp, white lines of the hospital, and a foolish tear threatened to spill over.  
  
She turned her attention to the flowers to distract her from her sudden homesickness, but they seemed too far away to make the attempt to reach for them. Still, her curiosity was eating at her, and she felt she owed the person who had sent them the courtesy of finding out his name. "Could you read me the card, please?" she inquired wearily, hoping the man wouldn't take the comment as too demanding.  
  
"I don't know," a familiar voice said as he set the flowers down with a clunk. "I don't think I signed it."  
  
"What are you doing here?" she snarled, sitting up in a way that made the room move in unnerving ways. But it was hard to stay mad when she was on the verge of hysterical laughter; he looked absolutely ridiculous. He was dressed in a navy and red uniform with the name Stan printed in bold black letters on a white badge, under the words Nancy's Flowers embroidered in flowing cursive.  
  
Vaughn shrugged, though he didn't quite meet her eyes, "I figured I should come see you and-this-was the best way I could think of." She felt a little heart sore at this complicated hoax, despite the good intentions, because she wished that he, of all people, could simply walk through her door, sit down and hold her hand like all the rest.  
  
She nodded to the chair closest to him, and he took a seat, glancing nervously around. "No cameras," she assured him. "We took care of that." She didn't specify whom 'we' meant, and he was considerate enough not to ask.  
  
He settled back into cushion then, a little more at ease. "You look a lot better than the last time I saw you."  
  
"Um, thanks?"  
  
He looked suitably embarrassed, understanding his choice of opening remarks had not been the best to make. "I mean, you look good today...Not that you don't always look good...Um, yeah. So, how are you feeling?"  
  
"I should be released tomorrow," she commented evasively as her eyes guiltily darted past his, hoping he wouldn't notice.  
  
"The doctor said this?"   
  
"Well, not in so many words, no. But I'm sure he'll agree with me, I can be very persuasive. Plus I feel fine."  
  
"Mmm-hmm."  
  
"I do!" she protested, feeling like some child insisting that she would be all right while playing in traffic.  
  
"Fine? Are you really sure? Two broken ribs, a fractured wrist, countless other things, and that's fine?" She got an odd shiver of pleasure from the fact that he had taken enough interest to find out what her injuries had been.  
  
"Nothing that won't heal, given time." At least physically. Mentally, emotionally, she'd had a few too many blows, not the least of which was her self-confidence. She had let herself be attacked and beaten, no one but her to blame. What good was she if she couldn't believe in herself anymore, when she was the only one she could count on during her missions? Who else would believe in her?  
  
He would.  
  
The thought hit her, and she looked straight up into his eyes, watched his brow wrinkle in that well-known way as his confusion grew. He would believe in her. Her father would believe, Will and Francie would believe, even Arvin Sloane in his twisted way had complete faith in her. They had never given up on Sydney Bristow, even when she had.  
  
And there it was, her reason, she remembered now; it had never been far away, only as far as she pushed it. She did it for them, for the people she cared about, for the innocents, for the old friends who still sent her Christmas cards with pictures of their happy families, for the strangers who smiled at her on the street. Not so hard to find if she had only thought to look.  
  
But that wasn't enough. There was something else she needed before she could face that life again. What else could she need to do?  
  
Give in.  
  
Her mother's words came back to her; it might not have been what Irina meant, but it certainly fit the situation. Give in, let go. Stop being afraid to lose herself in it once in awhile, she would be among good company.  
  
Vaughn's bewilderment only intensified in the continued silence and he cleared his throat, "Sydney? Are you tired? Maybe I should go..."   
  
"No, no, stay." She stretched her arm across the coverlet to reach out to him, palm up, fingers slightly curled. He hesitated only a moment before he took her hand in his own. She closed her eyes blissfully, warmth spreading form the point where they touched. "You're good for me, you know that?"  
  
And this time she didn't have to pretend, she truly fell asleep. 


	7. Back to Normal

Epilogue-Back to Normal  
  
She pulled the keys out of the ignition, jingling them a bit before dropping them into the depths of her purse. She hummed unconsciously as she slipped out behind the wheel and stood regarding the outside of the warehouse for a moment. Then shoved her sunglasses up on her head and started in.  
  
Back to work. She was-not resigned, resigned implied resentment-reconciled with the idea.  
  
She smiled to herself as she remembered Francie's reaction to her entrance in the kitchen this morning. Francie had taken in her appearance and declared she absolutely could not go back to work. "You've only been home three days!" she had repeated her argument several times as she followed Sydney's progress across the room. Sydney had only grabbed up a bagel and her bag, studiously ignoring the complaints behind her ear. "The world will keep turning without you!"  
  
"Sometimes I doubt that," Sydney had murmured to herself as she shut the door.  
  
Even going to SD-6 had almost been...well, tolerable. She had smiled straight into Sloane's face, all the while wondering what his expression would look like it she told him what she really thought of him. She could wait forever for that moment. Forever. She had brushed off Dixon's inquiries about her health and speculating glances with good-natured laughter. Laughter truly was the best medicine. And Marshall, she'd had a very engaging conversation with Marshall that somehow turned from her well being, to his mother's ailments, to squirrels.   
  
She chuckled out loud at the memory, the sound bouncing around the warehouse in rhythm with her footsteps.  
  
"Something funny?" Vaughn asked as he unfolded from his position on one of the crates. She fought the urge he inspired to tug the cuff of her blouse down lower over a bruise, scolding herself that he'd seen her with worse things than a couple bumps.   
  
"Nothing," she teased him lightly as she stepped into the cage, and she watched with amusement as he ran a self-conscious hand over his hair. She couldn't help raining another one of her smiles on him as he shifted, obviously wishing for a mirror. Women aren't always the vain ones.  
  
"I forgot to say thank you at the hospital before I fell asleep," she changed the topic to something more serious. "For saving me," she added the unnecessary clarification.  
  
"No problem," he smirked, the edges of his mouth jerking up, at what she wasn't quite sure.  
  
They both paused, unsure, then he took the last couple of steps toward her. His arms went lightly around her lower back, as hers timidly encircled his neck to return the embrace. She couldn't help that her whole body tensed as their stomachs touched and her chin brushed his shoulder. But no alarms went off, no armed men jumped out to separate them, nothing came between them. She finally relaxed into him, melting into the hug, dropping her cheek to rest near the curve of his neck as she sank into the comfort. And if they held each other a few more seconds than they should have, there was no one there to tell them so.  
  
The world fell back into its normal place as they stepped back, slid back into their game, their eyes shifting to avoid each other, then back again to catch stolen glances. They have gotten so good at this, they barely recognize they are doing it anymore. Desire is a second nature, lying a little farther underneath everything they do than they're willing to go.  
  
But no matter how hard they pretend, beneath it all something's changed, and sooner or later they will have to confront it.   
  
  
A/N: I'm sorry to see this one go because of all the great reviews I was getting--thanks guys!--but there wasn't much more I could no with it because Syd worked out her problems (with a little help from Vaughn!)...Still, I have a new story in mind that should be up late today or early tomorrow. I expect you all to read and review it! 


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